Notes From The Record Room (kind of an August recap) — The Messthetics & James Brandon Lewis (Live Review), Aquarius Records Documentary, Can
To whom it may interest,
Record Room: Monday, 8/26.
The fan is running, but the excessive and unbreathable heat of July has thankfully loosened its grip enough to restore comfort. August is days away from ending. I’ve been silent. When the opportunity presents itself to catch up on a multitude of projects, it’s often that all receive maybe 5 minutes of attention instead of the more sensible application of effort, which would be to focus on one project, complete it, and move on to the next one. This is why I currently have 80 browser tabs open on Bandcamp links and YouTube videos, five half-finished album reviews and blog entries, and a sketchbook riddled with rough drafts.
Here are some (somewhat) recent musings and happenings that I was able to capture and finish:
Latest sketch, 8/13/24
The Messthetics & James Brandon Lewis
Solar Myth
Philadelphia, PA
8/8/24
Thursday evening, August 8th, at Solar Myth in South Philly (R.I.P. Boot & Saddle), I was able to see The Messthetics & James Brandon Lewis perform.
10 or so minutes after searching for a spot to park, I crossed Broad Street just as an evening shower began and entered Solar Myth behind a friend group of four or five chatterboxes too involved in their conversation to really hurry inside. Immediately I saw members of The Messthetics mingling in the lobby, a section of the venue dedicated as a record / bookstore where guitarist Anthony Pirog was filing through some LPs and drummer Brendan Canty (formerly of Fugazi) was conversing with a few people. Ever conscious of the fact that I, now in my late 40s, somehow dodged his cool era, it’s always disheartening to walk through the bar area of Solar Myth surrounded by patrons who currently exist in theirs. I immediately headed to the performance space and took my place in front of the stage.
There was very little oxygen and, man, was it warm. Thankfully, I only stood for maybe 20 minutes before members of the band began to walk through the crowd, positioning themselves on stage and warming up. Bassist Joe Lally, (also formerly of Fugazi), made the introduction with no microphone, “Hey, we’re Messthetics and James Brandon Lewis. Washington, DC and Brooklyn.” Applause ensued. “Thanks so much for coming out,” he continued. “We’re very happy to be here and play some songs for you. We will talk again later.”
Pirog, with an array of blinking pedals and thick wires coiled around him, matched the sharp and dominating power of James Brandon Lewis’s full-bodied saxophone. While Lally and Canty ably kept the rhythm locked, the Lewis/Pirog combo was fascinating to witness. With his eyes often closed, or prone to determined looks while surveying the crowd, Lewis’s phrasing was expressive and clean. I’m very fond of the song “3 Sisters,” and couldn’t have been more happy with how well this track translated in the live setting. Even when reaching improv-heavy moments of planned discordance, Pirog adding to the maelstrom, the ensuing tumult never sounded overbearing or haphazard. The outro of “Boatly” left me gently swaying, eyes closed so I could absorb the full weight of the instrumental. Balancing these moments, funkier numbers like “Emergence” and “That Thang,” which were played in succession as starters for the band’s set, provided set-up for the evening’s more soulful moments. The band also padded their set with tracks from their previous trio-based albums and the non-album single “Fear Not.”
I failed to get a clear shot of Brendan Canty, but you can see his signature bell.
Author’s note (or, fan moment):
Canty was at the merch table when I went to grab a t-shirt and CD. Being the drummer of Fugazi, one of my all-time favorite bands, I blurted as I approached him, “BIG FAN! I haven’t seen you play since The Trocadero in ‘95!” He was very gracious.
I was elated to finally have the opportunity to see It Came From Aquarius Records, a documentary about the famed Aquarius Records, an unfortunately defunct San Francisco record shop (and regional institution) whose decades-long existence had impacted a number of patrons and artists, many of whom are interviewed. Without holding to the model of record store snob, sparing their frequenters any obvious disdain for album purchases or unsolicited and elitist remarks, Aquarius managers kept to a consistent standard of curation and stocked an inventory that favored tastes both esoteric and obscure while also celebrating the area’s homegrown talent. And, if you were a subscriber, the Aquarius Records email list was an exciting source for engagement, heavy with album reviews for incoming releases, all written with the unmistakable tone of a devotee’s passion.
I’ve watched this twice. I’ll likely watch it again.
Personal note: I live in a small borough outside of Philly. During many an obligatory dog walk, as I casually stroll through way too familiar surroundings for blocks at a time, the empty storefronts that line our local Main Street present themselves, in my mind, as potential record stores. It’s a persistent and intrusive thought that I entertain almost nightly as I survey these empty spaces, some of which have sat unused for years. I imagine these spaces fully-lit, rows of wooden racks holding a colorful array of sorted LPs being eagerly dug through by enthusiasts or budding fans, posters and fliers tacked up, stickers crookedly adhered to any available and inconsequential space, the crackling of an LP audible as music blares through hanging speakers. And, the thought makes me happy.
On occasion, I’ve contemplated a change of careers, shuffling myself lose from my corporate tether and becoming the owner of a local record store, issuing both corruption and inspiration to the town’s youth in the form of LPs and maybe even helping to cultivate the next crop of bands or artists who later cite my shop as an essential part of their origin story. It’s all very romantic and admittedly self-indulgent.
Without giving too much away, the store’s reputation and regional impact weren’t enough to keep Aquarius Records in business. While we of the integrity-above-all-else minded would like to believe that a record store like Aquarius would have garnered enough loyalty from customers to secure their patronage (and loot), the reality of their region’s influx of wealthier denizens and the popularity and convenience of streaming music were too much to compete with.
My Main Street daydream absolutely took a hit.
Links:
It Came From Aquarius Records — Official site / Instagram
Links, knowledge, and sounds were handed over courtesy of Us-Them Group:
It Came From Aquarius Records is an award-winning feature-length documentary about the SF-based independent record store, Aquarius Records. Having closed in 2016 after 47 years, this small apartment-sized store championed local, underground, independent, and challenging music to the masses - most memorably with their infamous bi-weekly, college essay-length, new-release lists.
This doc has interviews with the aQ owners dating back to 1970, other record store owners from around the world, musicians, label heads, music journalists, and INTENSE music collectors. Interviewees include Matt Groening (The Simpsons), Wayne Coyne (Flaming Lips), Bruce Ackley, John Darnielle (The Mountain Goats), Ty Segall, and Liz Harris (Grouper). About 65 (!!) total!
Aquarius Records influenced and enriched countless peoples’ musical tastes with their curated selections - but this film also shows the realities of an indie record store trying to survive in an increasingly difficult market of brick-and-mortar music shops, especially in the ever-changing and price-gouging Mission District of SF.
Six years in the making, the film has a very personal angle, with lots of behind-the-scenes footage (and drama) that shows both the joy and excruciating stress that comes with running — and closing — a store like this.
The No Dogs In Space podcast wrapped up a great series about Can.
Sincerely,
Letters From A Tapehead
